Birthdays, High School, and Retardation
In what is surely not a coincidence, today is International Disabled Persons Day.
My birthday is, like, now. I’m a year older, and they say you’re supposed to sit back and contemplate these things the more they happen. I’m 21, which is approaching geriatric, so I’ll sit down and pontificate on birthdays and shit.
I’m immediately reminded of high school, which means I’m not far enough removed to forget the Glory Days. And, let’s be honest, if you had been there for my Glory Days, you wouldn’t forget them either. Anyways, birthdays in high school were often many things: stupid, boring, exciting, full of hugs and cookies, wedgies from “friends,” and the occasional shout out in the middle of class by the teacher that you spent too much time with off school premises (whoa!).
My favorite parts about high school birthdays, though, were the reactions from people, who, inevitably, forgot. While everyone was congratulating you on another year survived, inquiring about presents and birthday parties, and wondering when would be a good time to buy you dinner (because they’re too cheap to buy you a present), these people were standing around, sheepishly, trying not to radiate the “I Forgot” aura. They failed, of course.
But what’s interesting about these reactions is that they can be broken down into two distinct groups: Male and Female. Every reaction goes one of two ways, and I’ll give general examples. The actual reaction is in quotes, and the inevitable internal commentary in response is in parentheses.
The Male Reaction:
“Ah, man, I forgot your birthday, bro! Totally sorry, dude, but I’ll make it up to you: you can forget my birthday.”
(Well, at least he understands that other guys, like me, don’t like responsibility. He’s revoking my obligation to remember his birthday because he forgot mine. Good man.)
The Female Reaction:
“Oh, it’s your birthday? I’m so sorry! I totally forgot!”
(Fake sympathy is terrible. Stop it. And, wait, do I even know you?) “Oh, I wish you would have told me!”
(You want me to go around shooting my load about how my birthday is coming up? Yeah, that’s not vain.)
“If you would have told me, I would have made you cookies! Or brownies!”
(Treats don’t make it better, especially not conditional treats that might have been. And you’re offering cookies and brownies? Why not a cake? Oh yeah, because a cake actually takes effort, and it’s meaningful. Cookies are what you do when you forget to make food for the company picnic.)
“Alright, you know what? I’m going to make you cookies tonight, and I’m going to bring them tomorrow. That’s what I’m going to do.”
(Sigh. I hate you. Go die in a ditch somewhere. Ugh! No! Don’t hug me! Gaaaahhhh…)
And that’s the other thing: it’s apparently an acceptable practice in high school to hug everyone on their birthday. People who would never think about touching you, much less coming near you, feel the sudden urge to hug you. It’s all very strange. Girls will come up and say “happy birthday!” and then do one of those Girl Hugs where their body is into it, but their mind is counting to three. Guys try to do some intricate handshake and usually end up Man Hugging you. You know, where you grasp hands and then tightly and awkwardly clap each other on the back for a few seconds until you separate and try not to look into the other guy’s eyes.
Birthdays in high school are very strange. The whole day, the person is bombarded with people hugging them but not meaning it; people hugging them, meaning it, and trying not to show it; and people trying to make up for forgetting.
I suppose this is why we all graduate in four years (unless you’re a dummmmmer!): we can’t stand having another birthday under these circumstances. In college, no one knows, remembers, or cares, and that’s a good thing, because birthdays should be left to friends and family. Who wants strangers and mildly friendly peers wishing you a happy birthday?
Unless of course it’s that girl whose number you’re trying to get. Playfully using her ignorance of your birthday to get her to pay for your next meal (and thus go out with you in public) is a totally cool thing to do.
Now some final, and general, birthday thoughts:
I’ve survived another year and I’m no better for it.
Apparently I can buy alcohol, as if they means something.
My dad’s birthday is also today. When I was born, he lost his job. Interpretation: I was the best birthday present EVER!
December is full of birthdays: Mine, my late Great-Grandmother (2nd), my 7th grade teacher’s daughter (7th), Keith (19th), my uncle (10th), my ex-step-grandparents' next doors neighbor's son (7th), and my other uncle (31st).
A bunch of people have my same birthday (and it is my birthday, not theirs): Ozzy Osbourne, my dad, Warren Jeffs, Julianne Moore, Bucky Lasek, Lindsey Hunter (old NBA player), and Marcus Williams (young NBA player).
Today, in 1929, Herbert Hoover told the Congress that the worst effects of the stock market crash were over. Man, was he a prophet.
So here’s to me: may I survive another year.
My birthday is, like, now. I’m a year older, and they say you’re supposed to sit back and contemplate these things the more they happen. I’m 21, which is approaching geriatric, so I’ll sit down and pontificate on birthdays and shit.
I’m immediately reminded of high school, which means I’m not far enough removed to forget the Glory Days. And, let’s be honest, if you had been there for my Glory Days, you wouldn’t forget them either. Anyways, birthdays in high school were often many things: stupid, boring, exciting, full of hugs and cookies, wedgies from “friends,” and the occasional shout out in the middle of class by the teacher that you spent too much time with off school premises (whoa!).
My favorite parts about high school birthdays, though, were the reactions from people, who, inevitably, forgot. While everyone was congratulating you on another year survived, inquiring about presents and birthday parties, and wondering when would be a good time to buy you dinner (because they’re too cheap to buy you a present), these people were standing around, sheepishly, trying not to radiate the “I Forgot” aura. They failed, of course.
But what’s interesting about these reactions is that they can be broken down into two distinct groups: Male and Female. Every reaction goes one of two ways, and I’ll give general examples. The actual reaction is in quotes, and the inevitable internal commentary in response is in parentheses.
The Male Reaction:
“Ah, man, I forgot your birthday, bro! Totally sorry, dude, but I’ll make it up to you: you can forget my birthday.”
(Well, at least he understands that other guys, like me, don’t like responsibility. He’s revoking my obligation to remember his birthday because he forgot mine. Good man.)
The Female Reaction:
“Oh, it’s your birthday? I’m so sorry! I totally forgot!”
(Fake sympathy is terrible. Stop it. And, wait, do I even know you?) “Oh, I wish you would have told me!”
(You want me to go around shooting my load about how my birthday is coming up? Yeah, that’s not vain.)
“If you would have told me, I would have made you cookies! Or brownies!”
(Treats don’t make it better, especially not conditional treats that might have been. And you’re offering cookies and brownies? Why not a cake? Oh yeah, because a cake actually takes effort, and it’s meaningful. Cookies are what you do when you forget to make food for the company picnic.)
“Alright, you know what? I’m going to make you cookies tonight, and I’m going to bring them tomorrow. That’s what I’m going to do.”
(Sigh. I hate you. Go die in a ditch somewhere. Ugh! No! Don’t hug me! Gaaaahhhh…)
And that’s the other thing: it’s apparently an acceptable practice in high school to hug everyone on their birthday. People who would never think about touching you, much less coming near you, feel the sudden urge to hug you. It’s all very strange. Girls will come up and say “happy birthday!” and then do one of those Girl Hugs where their body is into it, but their mind is counting to three. Guys try to do some intricate handshake and usually end up Man Hugging you. You know, where you grasp hands and then tightly and awkwardly clap each other on the back for a few seconds until you separate and try not to look into the other guy’s eyes.
Birthdays in high school are very strange. The whole day, the person is bombarded with people hugging them but not meaning it; people hugging them, meaning it, and trying not to show it; and people trying to make up for forgetting.
I suppose this is why we all graduate in four years (unless you’re a dummmmmer!): we can’t stand having another birthday under these circumstances. In college, no one knows, remembers, or cares, and that’s a good thing, because birthdays should be left to friends and family. Who wants strangers and mildly friendly peers wishing you a happy birthday?
Unless of course it’s that girl whose number you’re trying to get. Playfully using her ignorance of your birthday to get her to pay for your next meal (and thus go out with you in public) is a totally cool thing to do.
Now some final, and general, birthday thoughts:
I’ve survived another year and I’m no better for it.
Apparently I can buy alcohol, as if they means something.
My dad’s birthday is also today. When I was born, he lost his job. Interpretation: I was the best birthday present EVER!
December is full of birthdays: Mine, my late Great-Grandmother (2nd), my 7th grade teacher’s daughter (7th), Keith (19th), my uncle (10th), my ex-step-grandparents' next doors neighbor's son (7th), and my other uncle (31st).
A bunch of people have my same birthday (and it is my birthday, not theirs): Ozzy Osbourne, my dad, Warren Jeffs, Julianne Moore, Bucky Lasek, Lindsey Hunter (old NBA player), and Marcus Williams (young NBA player).
Today, in 1929, Herbert Hoover told the Congress that the worst effects of the stock market crash were over. Man, was he a prophet.
So here’s to me: may I survive another year.
8 erotic poetry prompts:
Sometimes girls really *do* feel bad that they forgot your birthday. Sometimes it isn't fake.
Totally. I generalized where I shouldn't have. My fault.
Two things.
You used my history thing.
Next, you forgot a birthday.
Thats right, Jesus
Ummmm. . . (You know what comes next. . .)
Seriously though, how does it feel to turn 17? I mean, last year you got your license. . . this year? You ready for those SAT tests? OMG you better study.
Dude it was your birthday...? I am sorry. I will make you some brownies. Here have a hug for now. *hug*
No worries, dude. If I recall, I remembered your birthday a few days before it happened, but then promptly forgot it on the actual day. So, you know, no big deal.
But, um, *hug* accepted. :)
I didn't know it was your birthday, since (a) I didn't ask and (b) you didn't offer. However, I did wake up long enough to offer a comedically deadpan rendition of your loving brother's voicemail, which if I remember correctly involved a bowl of dicks and his desire to have you consume them, or something.
What do you do if the JPEG for the Visual Verification word doesn't load? I guess I'll type "X Visual verification" in the box and then scream at my computer when it tells me I'm wrong.
Yeah, you and jon told me to eat a bowl of dicks. Out of sheer coincidence, I was, in fact, eating a bowl of dicks while listening to the voicemail.
And your response to visual verification problems is apt, if not necessary.
And finally, my "word verification" for this post is "drong." That's a cross between 'drunk' and 'wrong,' otherwise known as Keith's Saturday nights! Bam!
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